


Friends Come and Go

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Dominion, Episode Related, F/M, First Time, season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back story for S 10 Dominion. Vala, motivated by her false memories, thinks she's escaped from the unreliable Tau'ri, and is on her own again. But some bonds are harder to break than she realized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends Come and Go

_I've got a delicate mind  
I've got a dangerous nature  
My fist collides with your furniture_

Regret --

Where I go to no one knows  
Find me where the cold wind blows

I do what I like.

\-- "Regret", from _Touch,_ by Annie Lennox and the Eurythmics, RCA Records, 1983

^^^^^

Vala trudged up the main street of a village on PX3-862, being very visible and very alert, and picking leaves out of her hair as she scrutinized the foot traffic. There were couple of ATV-like transport vehicles. Nothing too scary; no soldiers, no Jaffa.

Her hair was a fright, as was, no doubt, her skin. Sleeping in the open was hell on the complexion, and so not her idea of a good time, but she'd arrived on this planet in … a bit of a hurry.

Her first order of business when she'd managed to make it through the gate had been to tenaciously eavesdrop on SG-16 until she'd figured out where they were, and had determined, admittedly an outside chance, whether or not this was a planet where she had any contacts. Once those points had been settled, the second with an unfortunate "none," her second order of business had been to note the village the team was apparently marching toward from the gate, and then to lie low until dark. She certainly didn't want to cross paths with the SGC team in town. She had been lucky in the team she'd followed opportunistically through the Earth gate -- their mission was supposed to be quite short. Soon enough, she'd discovered, the field would be left to her, and so in the meantime, she'd rested.

Comforted by her Sodan cloak, she'd curled up in the woods under a big tree and let herself drift in and out of dreams until dark. She hated to sleep with no one to watch, in a strange place, but all she could do was trust to invisibility for the moment, having no better defense. Pity she hadn't had time to break into the armory back at the SGC, but there was only so much one could do in the short amount of time she'd been able to snatch for her escape.

Now, with the purple twilight quickly leaving the sky, she warily paced up the main street of said village. She was keeping an eye out for SG-16, while looking for a tavern, or an inn with a bar. Someplace where she could do a little bartering, a little trading. Get a decent meal. Get a sense of the lay of the land, a sense of where the traffic to and from this world was bound. She'd already passed two cargo ships, parked at the edge of town. That was a good sign. It made her cheerful.

From what she'd gathered from listening to SG-16, this was rather a backwater. Abandoned when the local Goa'uld had battled themselves to a bloody and inconclusive draw, it was on what the Tau'ri called the Sagittarius arm. Its strategic location made it a convenient point for traders, and yet it had not fallen under the domination of a new Goa'uld yet, and it was too far from the Jaffa homeworlds to be of interest to that new federation. It had managed an anarchic and rather chaotic existence for the last few years, scrabbling along on the usual – smuggling, contraband, a little larceny, a little spying. No Ori yet, blissfully. SG-16 had sounded like they had been here before. They'd hoped to meet an informant – something about the Lucian Alliance.

Vala had not been able to catch it all – she couldn't risk getting close enough for that – but she'd heard enough to reassure her that SG-16 had had no intention of staying the night.

Ah, yes. Here was the perfect place – an open door, revealing the common room of a small tavern. The building was three stories, lots of little windows overhead; certainly an inn, there, above.

She put on her game face and slipped in, heading for the bar. The place was crowded – men drinking, in all kinds of dress, and every table full of diners or people gambling. There were only a few women, most of them employees. Typical.

"What'll it be, darlin'?" the bartender asked her, leering no more than the usual amount in situations like this. He was middle-aged and whiskery, but seemed to have all his teeth, which was pleasant.

"A tankard of the excellent local beer, my good man," she said, leaning in and flipping a generous hank of hair back, over her shoulder. Her SGC issue T-shirt didn't expose nearly as much cleavage as she could have used for this enterprise. But the shirt was nice and tight. He admired her breasts for a moment, then nodded, and turned to the tap.

"Here you are, love. Willya be running a tab, or paying in cash?" He leaned in, expectantly. Vala reached in the pocket where she had stowed her two patches, and leaned to meet him, looking conspiratorial.

"I propose a trade. You no doubt had word of the group of Tau'ri that was here earlier today?"

"Aye, we know them. They don't drink much, but they're always interested in, shall we say, intangible goods. Information." He smiled.

"Well, if you folk are familiar with the Tau'ri and the SGC, then this little trinket should be worth at least a couple of nights accommodation, plus a drink and dinner, hm?"

She slapped the SG-1 team patch on the bar, and let her hand slide across it, exposing the number but keeping the fabric securely under her palm. She shoved aside a pang. This was all business now. She wouldn't think of the day Landry had presented her with the patch. She didn't want to remember the pride in Mitchell's eyes that day, or the warmth in Daniel's.

The bartender raised his eyebrows. "Not something you see every day, now, is it?"

"Not as such," she said, emphatically.

He met her glance, looking eager, so she let him take hold of it, raise it to examine the embroidery, run his thumb across the coarse threads. He looked a little misty. "I met them, you know. When they first came here. Back in the day it was, when old O'Neill was still their chief…."

"Yes, good times, good times," she interrupted. "The question is, war stories aside, delightful as they are, is this something we can … commodify?"

The bartender stared at her. "There's a story, here, love, about how such as you came to have a patch from SG-1, but I don't suppose you're keen to tell it."

"Perhaps," Vala said, making herself flirt, making herself smile. "With the right … inspiration." She leaned in, dropped her voice to a whisper. "But not on an empty stomach."

He slapped the bar happily. "One night. One dinner. Beer's on the house."

"Excellent," Vala said, straightening and slapping the bar herself, with both hands.

"And I might come looking for my story, later."

"I look forward to it," Vala said, adding a little sultry note, and snagging her beer and turning away. The corner table, where she could watch the door, inventory the clientele and plan her next move.

Over dinner, she listened, without looking like she was listening, to a great lot of local gossip, which included confirmation that SG-16 had made their way back to the gate after spending a couple of hours at the tavern up the street.

Dinner was a filling, if rather unimaginative, meal. Finished eating, Vala stood up, ready to make her way back to the bar for a nightcap of beer and directions to her room. Tomorrow, fortified by rest and a bit of mental distance, she could get serious about trading for a ship, or for passage off this planet. Perhaps she could even put to use the game pieces she'd lifted just now, when the players' attention was diverted by a serving girl dropping a tray of mugs. The larceny had been instinctive, but you never knew. It was always good to have an ace or three up your sleeve.

She put her empty mug and bowl on the bar, and opened her mouth to call for the barkeep. She schooled her features to flirt. Then a squeeze to her forearm made her turn. It wasn't like her to let someone creep up on her, but the place was even more crowded than it had been before dinner. In a place like this, there was usually no way to avoid being jostled, as she well knew, having used that fact to advantage to pick pockets, many, many times. But there was no misdirection here; no hand sneaking into her jacket front.

"I beg your pardon," she blurted, because the man who had laid a heavy hand on her arm was unmoving and silent, his face hidden in a dark cloak. He seemed strangely statue-like, out of place in the loose and getting-looser atmosphere of the bar.

"You don't know me," the man said, and her breath caught at the sound of his voice. He took his hand from her arm and lowered his hood with a quick flipping motion of both hands. "And I don't know you."

She gasped. She couldn't not. She opened her mouth to say his name, but he was quick; even quicker than her surprise. She was off her game. Dammit. His hand shot out and covered her mouth before she could speak. She'd grown soft, slow, with four of them at her back, these last months. Soft and careless. His hand was tight and firm over her mouth, but he didn't try to catch her arm and twist it, or move to knock her out. He just stood there, his palm against her teeth, standing close.

"You don't know me," he repeated. "And I don't know you."

She could have bitten him. Hard. But she didn't. She shoved his hand down, and he let her. He regarded her gravely. The temptation to turn and bolt was intense. But something about his expression, and the fact of his disguise.... She bit back the curses she'd been about to spit, and looked him over.

He had no glasses, and what he was wearing looked exactly like that dreadful smuggler disguise he'd used when they went to worm the information about the bracelets out of poor annoying old Arlos.

The leather pants were nice. She gave him that. Bastard.

"Fine," she snapped. "I don't know you."

"No, you don't," he repeated, a smile just playing at the corners of his lips. "You can call me Jim."

The ironic, patronizing smile made her anger go cold, diving deep into her stomach, where she could feel it coiling tightly. Something she could draw on later. "Vala," she said, dry as a bone, and stepped back and extended her hand. "Vala Mal Doran."

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, surprising her again. She hid it completely, this time. "Your reputation precedes you, mademoiselle."

"So I'm often told."

"You have a room for the night?"

"If I do, why should I share that fact with you?"

"Because I have a proposition that I'm sure will be to your advantage."

Daniel stood there, having released her hand, and hid his own hands behind the folds of his cloak once again, gathering the fabric around him. She stared at him, and he stared back. She hadn't been this angry in years. She should slap his face and walk out. She really should, after the way he'd let the bureaucrats on his world threaten her. She still couldn't believe he'd caved like that, betrayed her like that. How did they put it on Earth? Simply thrown her under the bus.

She said, "If I had a gun right now…."

"You can borrow mine, if you still want to shoot me after we've talked."

She sighed and rolled her eyes, hoping she was hiding just exactly how shaken and weary she was under the anger and the sarcasm. Then, holding Daniel's gaze until the last moment, she turned to the barkeep, who was shamelessly eavesdropping.

"My room key, please," she said. The barkeep's glance flicked from Daniel's impassive face back to Vala's, but he handed over the old-fashioned, long-barreled key without a word. She snatched it and flounced toward the stairs.

After Daniel had followed her into the room, she locked it, hung the key on its hook, and leaned her shoulders against the door, glaring at him. The room was small and neat; nothing in it but the bed and a chair at the foot of it. Daniel swept off his cloak, surprisingly graceful in how he handled the heavy folds, because as far as she knew cloaks like that hadn't been in fashion on his homeworld for centuries. He indeed had a Beretta in a thigh holster, as well as a small bag, slung over one shoulder and under his arm. He pulled this off, set it on the chair, and rummaged through it. He produced two small metal devices, smaller than the cellular phones everyone carried on Earth, and held them up for her to see, as if trying to prove they were no threat. Then he moved cautiously toward her.

"Take off your jacket," he said, quietly, as if they were back at home and he was inviting her to have a drink and stay awhile. Which, of course, he never had.

"Dan—" she started, but he interrupted.

"Jim," he corrected, and again, the ghost of a smile. "I don't know you, and you don't know me. But I have some things here you'll need." He indicated the little devices. "Take off your jacket." His voice was urging and kind.

Frowning, she slid her arms out of her SGC-issue jacket and tossed it on the bed.

"This," he said, holding up one of the devices, "will disable the tracking signal in your implant and neutralize the battery, and this…" and he held up the other one, "will vaporize it painlessly once it's been disabled."

Her eyes got wide. Help was the last thing she expected from him now.

He didn't wait for her to either agree or argue. He stepped close, and she let him, his hands smoothing cool on her skin, and then he neatly, and calmly, destroyed the SGC's ability to track her.

She closed her eyes at his touch, and at the strange sensations threading through her upper arm. It was over very quickly, and, as he'd promised, there was no pain, only a momentary sharp buzz, like an electric shock.

Then Daniel turned away and put the tech back into his bag. Vala sank onto the edge of the bed, her surprise and her anger waning, and watched him. He seemed to hesitate, looking into the bag. His long-fingered hands were white against the dark leather.

"Jim," she said, the short ungraceful name feeling awkward in her mouth. "Does the general know you're here?"

He turned and met her eyes. "No," he said, never wavering, and after all this time, all the adventures they'd had together, she couldn't tell if he was lying or not. He held her gaze as she pondered his answer. If he'd come alone out of pity, out of friendship, out of concern for her…. that would hurt almost as much as believing that Landry had sent him and there was some plot afoot, some terrible double game in which she was a pawn.

He watched her think, his brows drawing together just a bit. He looked utterly calm and determined. To think she had once, only half jokingly, called him "my Daniel." As far as she could tell, he belonged to no one.

He added, sounding reluctant, "I came alone. I had to sneak away. Although that was a little easier for me than it must have been for you."

"What happened to, 'I don't know you and you don't know me?' "

He came closer, still frowning, just a tiny bit, and she rose to meet him. She still was only half unconvinced that he'd zat her, or put her in a head lock if she let him near. But he came right to her, and all he did was put his hand on her cheek. It was still cool, and a bit damp. Was he nervous?

"Still true," he said. "We're total strangers." And he didn't pat her cheek patronizingly and back away. He didn't turn away from her and unlock the door and step through it, taking all her futile, stupid, infantile dreams of home with him.

Instead, he did something that surprised her more thoroughly than his appearance downstairs. He stared into her eyes, and repeated, "Strangers," in a faint whisper, and then he closed his eyes and slowly brought his face to hers. He kissed her, tentative and tender, and then drew back just enough to look in her eyes again. His expression was guarded, as if he expected to be slapped. But she didn't slap him. Vala frowned, and covered the hand on her cheek with her own.

This was the very last thing she had expected from Daniel, on any world, under any kind of cover. Even when they were in the bodies of the married couple, when they first learned of the Ori, he hadn't acted like this. She gazed into his eyes. He was so inscrutable. He talked and talked and communicated nothing. Only facts. He, the man himself, was a complete enigma. But he had kissed her. Just now, just here. She lifted her chin. Perhaps her instincts, which had urged her to flirt even more relentlessly than was her habit, instincts which had also insisted, quietly, continually, that he not only cared, he _cared_ \-- perhaps her instincts had been right about him all along. Perhaps she'd been wrong to write him off after he'd clumsily rejected her, the first time she'd crawled into his bed. Back when he was still living in quarters in the mountain, right after she'd spoiled his big exciting field trip to Atlantis.

He moved his hand against her cheek, very lightly, very slightly, and in the absence of any reaction from her, she felt his hand start to fall. He was going to drop it away from her cheek, and back up. But she didn't want him to. She pressed his hand more firmly against her cheek and leaned in.

She said, against his mouth, "Strangers, are we?" She inhaled sharply, smelling grass and sweat and smoke and leather. She pressed closer, fitting herself against him, tilting up her face. She felt his hand on the small of her back, encouraging, and she closed her eyes and kissed him. Gently exploring. Never in a million years….

They were silent, just kissing, and it was Vala who escalated it. She opened her mouth, she invited with her tongue, and he followed her lead. Her arm eased around his ribs, and when she pressed he leaned, shuffling a little closer, and she could feel that he was hard. She was feeling so many things, she couldn't begin to untangle them all.

Her Daniel was here. No – Jim. Someone named Jim was here. Someone with warm lips and smooth shaven cheeks, someone with tender hands and tentative breaths. Someone warm. Someone kind. To help her. To send her on her way. To say, wordlessly and so clearly, in every kiss: _I'm sorry. I wish I could do more. I'm sorry._

She figured she knew when to talk and when to shut up. And now was a good time to shut up.

Still kissing, she fumbled with his vest, yanking at the laces, and soon enough they had shed the impediment of clothing and were lying in the bed, under the covers, pressed together against cool soft cotton, and there was nothing, now, that she needed to say.

She wasn't sure what she had done with her anger, but she was sure she could find it later. If she needed to.

And this man was everything she'd known he would be in bed – gentle, until the time for gentleness was over. Silent, until there were sounds that he couldn't hold back. And through it all, consistently, unfailingly – tender, concerned, unselfish. And, another surprise, much more obviously experienced than she'd ever given him credit for. Teach her to have preconceptions about scholars.

Afterward, they lay panting, curled against each other, twining close. She had, for the moment, the illusion of company. Of friendship. And for now, the illusion was enough.

Their breathing slowed. Their lazy bodies separated, and she couldn't help but count it as a small, ordinary loss. The sweat dried from their skin. He stirred and scrubbed his forehead, then rearranged their legs and gathered her close again. In the process, he leaned on her hair, tugging it, making her yelp, and he apologized, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. That made her frown. Yet, Vala simply lay there, enjoying the smell of him, wallowing in his touch, positively reveling in the rubbed, used feeling between her legs. Because it had been too long since she'd had a night like this.

She tried to think about that, and not about who this was in bed with her. After a while, she fancied she could hear him thinking.

She tilted her head enough to see his face. He was staring at the ceiling, looking tired and worried. She raised a hand and stroked his forehead, and he started, and met her eyes. She watched him drag his thoughts back to the bed, to her. His icy gaze softened, as the corners of his eyes crinkled in what was not quite a smile.

She drew breath. "Jim. I want to ask—"

This time he stopped her with a warm soft kiss. Not a palm against her teeth. Just as effective. Just as frustrating.

He said, "Sleep now. Just sleep."

She gave up. She squirmed against him, pushing her shoulderblades against his chest, and he came right up to her, snuggling his soft package against her ass, putting an arm around her to cradle a heavy breast in his hand.

In the night, she felt him leave, but she didn't stir and she didn't open her eyes.

Morning was so very unfamiliar. It came quickly, bright sunshine flooding through the uncurtained window, waking her through her closed eyelids, making her wince even before she could look at the room. It had been a long time since she'd seen morning sunshine from her own bed.

She sighed, and eased away from the wet spot she'd rolled into. She'd known without question that she'd wake up alone. That, at least, made sense. It was one of the few things that did, just now. She lay on her back, an elbow crooked over her eyes against the sunlight.

Why had Daniel done this? Why had he followed her? And why had he wanted to bed her, after all this time? She didn't feel much like looking at why she, despite what the sanctimonious bastard had done to her back on Earth, had felt like bedding him. She could beat herself up for that lapse in judgment later, when the bliss of the sex itself had faded a bit more.

No, her own motives were not so hard to fathom. But Daniel's, as usual, eluded her. Why had he fucked her? Finally? Almost anonymously? After all this time?

Did he have to make his cover story plausible for anyone who was watching? Create, for her sake, the scenario that she had bartered for the removal of her tracking implant with the only coin she had at the moment? Was this night of gorgeous, careful sex simply for the benefit of the bartender, and anyone else who might have noticed them together? Was that all? That seemed, well, cold. Not much like the Daniel she had thought she knew. But maybe he would do that. She rather doubted it, even now.

Or. Had he wanted her body all along, and now was as good a time as any to claim it? Honestly, that was better. Because she'd like to think he had wanted her. Hey, a girl had to enjoy the flattery when it came along.

Perhaps his actions indicated something even more opportunistic than her first theory. Was he truly as cruel and distant as he sometimes seemed? And thus, last night had been simply the grabbing of some convenient ass, on its way out? If so, why in the six hells of Malabar would he risk coming out here to help her at all? No, that didn't make sense either.

Had he sneaked away, without permission, on his own? Simply to help her in the only way he could? Powerless to stop the Washington idiots from snatching her, had he concluded that helping her get away cleanly was literally all he could do? Maybe he did care about her, a little. Maybe he wanted her to avoid recapture, and maybe he felt it was best to help her with the implant right away. Perhaps he wanted to spare her a nasty amateurish surgery? Daniel the humanitarian? But that scenario didn't explain the sex.

She thought about it, turning all these rationales over and over in her mind, smelling breakfast wafting from downstairs, and wondering who she would find in the common room when she emerged from her bed. She found, at last, that she had no idea what was true about Daniel now. She rather doubted that Daniel was being opportunistic and cruel, but then, she had to admit, he had continually surprised her in ways that Mitchell and Sam never did. He and Teal'c – they were always her wild cards.

Were, of course, being the operative word here.

She rolled over in the bed. The sun here was brighter than the sun of Earth. It was harsh, and was threatening to give her a headache. Her stomach grumbled, responding simply to the smell of bacon now, and not to sad thoughts of Daniel. She sighed. She'd have to get up, get with the program, make good her escape. She hauled herself to a sitting position and glanced around at the floor. The floor was empty. The insufferable bastard had taken her clothes. Her baggy uniform was gone. Last evening Daniel had stripped it off her, hurrying, not being careful, and it had joined his smuggler's drag on the floor near the bed. But there was nothing there now. Nothing at all. Then Vala glanced at the chair at the foot of the bed. Something was draped across it. Not his cloak. Something else. She got up, naked, but forgetting that for the moment.

Clothes. He'd left her… not her old uniform. An outfit quite suitable, actually, to the role she was about to adopt. Leather slacks, a leather jacket, two shirts. Just her size. She grabbed the jacket and shook it, shoved her fingers into the inner pocket. Coins. And something wooden, strangely shaped... She yanked out a handful, dropping the jacket. Coins, and her pilfered game pieces. She rubbed one of the coins between finger and thumb. It was gold. She gathered up the cash, counting it. Not much, but a small, reasonable stake. Something to get her into a game. Something to get her started, get her on her way. And there was something else in the jacket pocket…. Her second patch. Her Earth glyph.

She closed her eyes, clutching the coins and the patch, and shook her head once. She let herself tip over, onto the bed on her back, the patch and the cash snuggled against her breasts. The bed smelled of Daniel, of sex. She turned her head into the pillow, and let go of the Earth patch to bring it over her face, breathing deeply. Then she threw the pillow across the room, and watched it bounce off the window sill and fall to the floor.

Full daylight. Time, past time, to dress, and get to work.

finis


End file.
